Fanservice
by Soshite
Summary: On Jareth and fanservice. A fic for those in need of a little magic in their lives.


**Title:** Fanservice

**Author:** Soshite

**Summary:** On Jareth and fanservice. A fic for those in need of a little magic in their lives.

**Rated:** K+

**Disclaimer:** Labyrinth and all of its characters do not belong to me.

**A/N:** I started write this one day when I was feeling really depressed and needed some guidance—and somebody to hug. Of course, when you seclude yourself most of the time, it's hard to get a comforting shoulder, so I thought...wouldn't it be nice if you could just get a shoulder to cry on at the drop of a hat/ A sympathetic ear? And this fic came into being. Unfortunately, I lost inspiration after a while, so the fic isn't as it should have been, but I am generally satisfied with it and think that I got the message I wanted across near the end. I hope.

**FANSERVICE**

"I wish I could meet Jareth."

Voices calling out his name...

"I wish I could run away to the Labyrinth."

Foolish people who do not know what they truly want...

"I wish the goblins would take me away right now."

Idiocies uttered in vain...

"I wish I could have Jareth's babies!"

Jareth sighed in exasperation. He tried to get comfortable in his circular throne, but it only served to give him a crick in his back. He never remembered having so many summons in his entire life—not since the depression of 1940-something or other when children were wished being wished away left and right. Of course that situation was much more favorable than what he was being subjected to, at the moment.

Ever since a certain little red book had transformed into a little silver DVD case the Goblin King barely had a moment's rest. Since the release of Labyrinth on DVD his name was called constantly by little snipes who didn't quite know the power they held over him. Jareth couldn't say that he didn't enjoy the attention now and again (he was a king, after all, and as such was entitled to lots of everything), however, when his summoners crossed the line (i.e. Got touchy feely) he would get all huffy and leave.

The ones who usually called him were females of the barely pubescent variety of whom would abuse his wish granting abilities to the fullest. Unfortunately, it had generally been his fault considering he helped start the whole wish granting mess in the first place.

His Royal Majesty would be the first to one to admit it: he liked to give fanservice since he seemed to be a big favorite in the Aboveground. On a whim he decided to pay a visit to one of his fangirls, one hot Sunday afternoon, when his ears were a-tingle with the echoes of Words.

That one moment of whimsy had cost him much.

There was this curious little human invention in the Aboveground called the Internet which allowed the non-magical people up there to converse and send mail rather rapidly akin to how fast gossip traveled within the Fae Court. News of his appearance had spread like wildfire and his old occupation of baby-snatching and teen sibling worrying was over. It had been replaced by living up to the expectation of a million Sarah-wannabes who loved nothing more than to boss him around, sing terribly in front of him or read to him sordid tales about A. Jareth and Sarah; B. Jareth and Toby (really, the things these young women thought of); or C.Jareth and super modified versions of themselves he had learned to be called Mary-Sues (he once ended up in the house of this rather well-aged French lady artist who went on and on about the evil of Sues, which was how he came upon thee term).

Feeling that the torture would never end the king stood up from his throne and stretched his body. His right foot had fallen asleep and he stamped on the ground a couple of times to get the feeling back in. Thinking that their ruler had come up with some sort of new dance the goblins mucking about in the throne room started to mimic him. Jareth smiled at them in a sort of fatherly amusement. Annoying as the little imps were they were somewhat adorable in their grubby, silly little ways.

After everyone had a good laugh over the 'Jareth's-Foot-Is-Asleep' dance (which was almost as good as the Jareth-Needs-To-Pee dance performed a long time ago when the King had merely been a Prince; a dance long since put into goblin culture and passed down from goblin to goblin throughout the generations) Jareth was back on the clock. Listening intently to the Words drifting down from the human world—_Jareth, I need you—_the Goblin King picked out the most desperate one and sped up through the power of magic.

Jareth would be the first to admit it: he had a cautious dislike of fangirls. Some were alright (statistically speaking, somebody had to be), but most he came across were utterly, totally, completely, without a doubt, quintessentially queer. That is to say: They were absolutely weird. If it wasn't one thing with them, it was another. He was often called for pretend woes that could put Sarah's melodrama with her step-mother, Karen, to shame. And that was saying something. The man really wondered what was today's youth's basis for comparison whenever they said the words 'it's not fair'.

But, no matter how much he'd love to throw the little tarts into the Bog of Eternal Stench, he'd still give in (reasonably) to their demands—er—_wishes_.

The room where he found himself was dim; the lights had been turned off, but the pale glow of moonlight being filtered by thin curtains did much to help him see. Music by Tchaikovsky was played loudly to block out the shouts he assumed were coming from downstairs. Jareth' sensitive fae hearing could pick up the subject being argued heatedly. It would be best not to dwell on it.

The walls were plastered with what looked to be posters of Japanese animation characters. None of him, of course, but he was glad for it. That 'Return to the Labyrinth' comic was dreadful and simply did no justice to his greatness. His mismatched eyes trailed the line of pictures on the wall, body going into a half circle until his eyes were upon a closet door. That was sniffling.

Half steeling himself for the fangirl attack, half preparing himself to scare the fan silly he yanked the door open.

Silence, coupled with the occasional sniffle and choked sob.

Jareth would be the last one to admit it, as he stared at the lone figure huddled up in the closet, really and truly crying tears of pain: The only reason why he kept up his fanservice was because, sometimes, he'd find cases such as these...people who really needed him there. People who desperately needed to believe in magic lest their world fell crashing down all around them.

The blond royal stepped into the small closet, noticing the mess—like a tornado had gone through it. There was a stuffed bag in the corner. He already knew what was inside without looking or asking. The girl who had summoned him was hugging a tattered old toy in her arms and hadn't taken in his presence in her sanctuary. Or maybe she had and didn't know what to say.

Jareth crouched in front of her; she did not move. He honestly wished that the girl would. For while he was cruel he would never wish this human child's fate on anyone; not even his worst enemy.

"Are you alright?" he asked before he could stop himself. What a glaringly obvious question! Of _course_ she wasn't alright! Even though he had asked the thoughtless question his caller responded by shaking her head, encouraging the king to speak again.

"Would you like to talk?" he inquired, none too good at being comforting. As much as he wanted to help Jareth had never been particularly talented at being nice. But he had watched humans enough to do something at the very least. Jareth couldn't stand being helpless, if his willingness to give aid wasn't a factor towards his actions.

She shook her head. He tried again.

"Do you want a hug?" His fangirls would often ask him this to try and 'console his weeping heart' over his loss to Sarah while, at the same time, badmouthing the girl as if there were no tomorrow. Perhaps some physical contact would calm her down?

But she wouldn't allow him and just shook her head again. Jareth sighed. Then inspiration struck him.

"How about a song?" Not letting her answer the simple question the Goblin King broke out into an acapella rendition of 'As the World Falls Down'. The girl lifted her head and looked at him through watery eyes and Jareth thought he had finally gotten to her...but to no avail. Slim fingers found their way to his lips and gently shushed him without making a sound. She didn't want him to sing to her. The royal felt a little anxious as he found himself running out of options.

"I could...suspend a goblin over the Bog of Eternal Stench. That's always fun," he suggested. The man gave a weak chuckle hoping that his attempt at humor would bring a small giggle. It didn't. In fact, Jareth was sure he had depressed her more. Hell, he was getting a little depressed himself. Exhaling heavily he plopped down next to her on the cold, cold floor. He hadn't realized how cold it was in her room, having been too busy trying to answer a summons. "How about I stay here for a little while?"

This she did allow. She didn't fling her arms around him, letting everything out and sobbing into his chest like some woman from a harlequin romance novel. He sat there, cramped and awkward, inside the closet of one of his fans who called for him, but did not ask for anything, except for his presence.

Jareth would never admit it: with all the magic in the world there was nothing he could do, except to wait and hope that this sadness would pass. No person should ever have to feel rejection, abandonment...desperation of the worst kind. He knew and understood well enough. But that was all he could really do; understand.

A gloved hand was raised and then settled on top of the girl's head. He wasn't sure what this would accomplish, but he gently ruffled her hair with a stroking motion. She looked up at him again, but he didn't dare to hope for a good response. She didn't even smile at him, although there was the _small_ hint of curiosity in her eyes. He smirked softly. _Perfect_. It was the opening that he needed.

"Let me tell you a story," he began, leaning closer and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. When she didn't move away ("Progress, at last!" The man had almost shouted to the heavens.) Jareth took it as a sign that he could continue without interruptions (or tearful refusals). "Once upon a time...in a far away land...there lived a beautiful young maiden. She was unlike any other in the whole world; her name was Sarah...One day, as she was walking alone in the woods a strange owl appeared..."

Jareth spun an intricate tale of unrequited love; daring battles and magic spells; of surly dwarves and the cuddliest of furry giants. It felt strangely odd to be telling a young woman a story she probably knew all too well in such a childish manner, but she actually listened to him, expression rapt with attention as she absorbed every word from his mouth as if it were scripture. She did not judge him, had no expectations or exhausting demands of him, except for one he hadn't quite seen when he had arrived in her room.

Every time when he thought it called for some visuals, he would whip out a crystal or create a backdrop right on her closet wall, making silly hand puppets. He was actually enjoying himself, despite the silliness he rarely indulged in (and that said a lot, because his subjects were known to be the silliest bunch of them all). Her sombre attitude changed considerably and though her eyes were puffy and red, not a tear was left in sight. She had the small signs of a smile tugging at her lips, but kept obediently quiet as he told his story.

The tale, however, turned sour near the end as he became somewhat reluctant to recount what had happened in the Escher Room when he faced Sarah for the last time. The king had a problem going on and it wasn't surprising for the girl at all; despite everything Jareth was still a creature of pride and his ego had been horribly bruised and his heart smashed in that one single moment. There hovered the scene, a moment frozen in time before them in the form of a crystal vision The king stood resplendent in white and glorious plumes on one side, while his heroine stood at the other, adamant and decisive. There were no words; neither moved in this halted tale.

It's not fair. He didn't think he'd echo her words so easily, but there those words were and he had barely thought of them. Staring at what could have become something so glorious that turned out so wrong, those three little words were the first to pop into his mind.

"It's not fair."

But then, he realized, that he hadn't been the one to say them. _She_ did.

He looked at her inquisitively, while she gazed right back with rather red, but calm eyes. The storm had seemed to have passed already with her. He wished it was with him.

Jareth smirked a little smirk and reached out to ruffle up her hair.

"It never is," he spoke; more to himself than to her. Her pain had passed for now, but his own had started just soon after. It hadn't been too clever of him to go about dredging up such memories (of Sarah and her time in his Labyrinth, of all things), but at least no more tears would be shed for feeling unwanted and dejected, for no one deserved to feel such things...Except for him, the cruel Goblin King who dared to fall for a far crueler young woman with bright eyes, dark hair and of whom he had no power over.

She smiled sadly, face set with resignation.

"I know."

He smiled, too. Softly, tinged with a bit of his own despair.

"And what would you have for a basis of comparison?" he inquired.

She actually pondered over it, instead of saying the first thing that came to mind or just yelling at him. Such a pity. He would have, perhaps, enjoyed a little good natured ribbing, but after successfully abating the girl's tears he didn't want to send her right back down into the depths of despair just after she had cleared the surface and caught her breath. He was cruel, but not quite that cruel.

He realized that the shouting outside the closet had stopped and now only a movement from Swan Lake was being played on the sound system somewhere in the room. Ah, which one was it? He wasn't quite sure, but he knew, at the back of his mind, that it probably had to do with some princess named Odette fleeing a castle when she realizes that her prince has proclaimed his love for someone else.

"You're here with me, when you could be with her."

And she was right. But that was fine.

"Ah, but you see, poppet...I have no power over her and she has no great want of seeing me."

Because there were rules for everything and the rules clearly stated...that things were simply not meant to be.

"And truth be told...I don't want to see her again. Not for a while yet."

He had a job to do, after all, a life to live and it couldn't always be about Sarah, no matter how many of these girls liked to make it seem so. Though he lost, he still stood, after all. He still trudged onwards, with one foot in front of the other.

"That is a pity, though."

Jareth grinned at the girl, teeth showing and he ruffled her hair up for good measure.

"Such is the way of the world."

And she smiled at him and it was sweet and he felt a slight tug at the sight of it. It seems that he had reached his objective, which meant he won't be staying much longer in the Aboveground—until he was called again, of course. But he was glad—gladder than he would ever admit. There were a million 'Sarahs' in the world, beckoning to him in their childishness and petulant ways. But sometimes, just sometimes...he'd find that one little gem that reminded him why he fell for that girl in the first place. And why he let his name be used in vain, for, he thought...maybe one day she'd call on him again.

Until then, dear fans, should you ever be in need of a shoulder to cry on or someone to joke with, the Goblin King is always ready and waiting to hear the words be spoken aloud, allowing him to be drawn into the world of humans once again.

His Majesty is always ready to pay his due respect to those who have helped him carry on all this time...until the day he meets Sarah again.


End file.
